


Call Me What You Like

by orphan_account



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Dublin - Freeform, M/M, Post Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-17
Updated: 2011-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to get it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me What You Like

**Author's Note:**

> Written pre Hollyoaks Later of 2008 which saw Craig feature with Steph and Niall.

 

 

CALL ME WHAT YOU LIKE

 

 

 

“You always want to talk about things.”

“Craig it's not talking about things that got us where we were. Stop being an arse.”

Craig stared up at him. John Paul didn't like the house, that had been clear from the start. He hadn't said much, but it was clear to Craig that John Paul hadn't expected the lack of privacy, the busy railway terminal feel of the place. He'd got so used to it now, had initially actually welcomed it as a means of not thinking, not being alone with the thoughts he was determined not to be thinking. Still, he could see its disadvantages now, but John Paul was the one being an arse and he didn't feel in a particularly conciliatory mood. “Look I'm going to go to the library. When you feel like acting like a civilised human being give me a bell.”

He grabbed his backpack and had made it to the door when John Paul stopped him – hand pushing the door to, the full length of his body pressed hard against Craig's back. “Don't go,” whispered in his ear.

“John Paul, I'm not going to fuck you,” he said with great patience. “You've been a real prick lately and I'm really not in the mood for yet another bout of make up sex. If you want to talk – and I mean really talk - I'll be in a more receptive mood when I get back.”

“I want to talk – you're the one-”

Sighing he turned with some difficulty and looked John Paul in the eye. “It's not that I don't want to talk, John Paul, it's that you keep talking but saying basically fuck all about what's really bothering you. If we're gonna do this, do it seriously then you need to bloody trust me – with everything.”

He could see the minute the shutters went down, could see it in John Paul's eyes; they turned a darker shade of blue and though their gazes were still entwined he could feel the lack of connection now. John Paul moved away, the eloquent language of his body speaking volumes. “Go then, but don't expect me to be here when you get back.”

Craig did his best not to react to that rather obvious provocation. He grinned. “Well I'm not going to be that long – 2 hours at most – just need to make a start on this research.”

John Paul shrugged, went to the wardrobe and picked out a jacket. “Still won't be here.”

Craig examined him for a while, debating with himself: should he ditch the research, sit him down, make him come clean about whatever the hell it was eating away at him or leave it up to John Paul to sort it out for himself, come round in his own time? He had a feeling that either option would be the wrong option, so in that case...

He shrugged, slung his bag across his shoulder and with a cheerful “See you later then,” left John Paul to stew in whatever juices he'd chosen to steep in.

He had a feeling that he was really, really going to regret that move.

 

 

**

 

 

The thing about sex with John Paul is that it didn't really help to sort anything out: it was always good - always, always - and never seemed to have anything to do with anything else that might be going on between them. It had never been that way with anyone else. When he felt even a hint of hostility toward or disinterest in any of the girls he'd dated the sex would suffer – no question at all. And the thing that he could see now caused much of the problem was the fact that sex with John Paul always served to assure him of his place in John Paul's heart. Again it had always been that way: they were so connected during each and every stage of love making that had either of them been even the least bit out of sync then it would have shown – like a VPL in an otherwise perfect dress. And as always they just _hadn't_ been.

 

John Paul had been home when he returned some hours later, glowing with satisfaction because he'd had some major breakthroughs during the 4 hours he'd spent buried under books, but aware too of a prickle of anxiety since he seriously hated fighting with him. Their fights had never been really serious, not the way the fights with Sarah had often been – they were just too sure of each other for that. It was like there was an invisible cord joining them and they just couldn't not be in sync without the cord getting tangled, pulling, pinching and ending up feeling really uncomfortable for both of them. He'd sensed that, that connection almost from the start of their friendship but it had intensified to a factor of 10 once they started sleeping together.

The cord was still strong, still untangled, still secure and their lovemaking illustrated that. So it wasn't that John Paul's feelings for him weren't as strong, but something was wrong and for some reason John Paul didn't want to talk abut it.

The fact is, though, John Paul had changed. Well they both had: he was sure he'd matured 5 or 6 years in the year since he and John Paul had split up and John Paul certainly had. He had a feeling that neither of them had really factored any of this in – the fact that they had both changed - and perhaps it was something like this that was at the root of John Paul's prickliness.

It would sort itself out - he was sure of it.

All they needed was time and maybe a bit of space.

It really didn't help, living on top of each other like this. And he was busy this year – next year he'd be on placement and he was determined to get a really great one. This year would make a real difference in the quality of placement so he had to get his head down. And the truth was – the plain fact of the matter was that John Paul was a distraction. Last year he'd been so unhappy that immersing himself in the work had seemed like a great idea, the very thing he'd needed to get through it all. This year was different: he was happy, had it all sorted, was in love, _so_ in love and he knew that if he weren't careful he could let things slip. He had to put John Paul in his proper place – he couldn't let his private life overwhelm the academic side of things.

He snuggled up to John Paul's firm back, kissed his slightly reddened ear – he'd worked him pretty hard – and smiling, settled in to sleep.

Everything would be fine. That little spat they'd had earlier hadn't lasted longer than the four hours he'd been away. The minute their eyes had met they'd been in each other's arms, kissing, kissing leading to a long session of heavy petting on the sofa, reluctantly agreeing to save the main course for later.

He knew that they were fundamentally okay- the sex made him know that they were very okay.

John Paul would get used to everything.

All it needed was time.

 

 

**

John Paul had landed himself a 'job' with some eccentric recluse of a guy. Craig had tried to insist he sort out his degree – try to get credit for his first year at HCC, finish out his degree in Dublin. He'd flat out refused. They'd argued about it, of course, but when it became clear that John Paul was simply determined to be a stubborn bastard about it all he'd let it go - for now - but if this bloody job kept getting in the way like it promised to do he'd absolutely insist!

John Paul had met him on the bloody street from what Craig could gather – met him on the street then the next thing he was working for him! Craig had been very wary – the 'job' just seemed too good to be true. When he'd looked up the company name well he'd found it – just – but hadn't been any he wiser about who was behind it or what the company actually did. John Paul, when questioned, had said 'oh he has his fingers in several pies'. His light-hearted (but not really) quip: “well make sure he keeps his finger out of _your_ pie' had gone down like a lead balloon.

 

John Paul, in Craig's estimation, didn't know what he was getting himself into and for some reason seemed determined to rub this 'job' in Craig's face. He kept his Stephary to himself, paying his way, of course, treating Craig, lending (giving) him money, but he would not tell Craig how much he was being paid. When he'd asked the first time and been met with evasion he'd known not to keep asking. But he was pissed off about that; he told John Paul exactly how much he had to spend, how much the measly job in the student union paid him. He didn't know why the hell John Paul was being such a prick, but he _really_ didn't like this man he was working for.

He'd given John Paul a pager – a fucking pager – and paged him at all hours of the day – and night - expecting him to drop everything and come running. He remembered early one morning – Saturday – when he'd been blowing John Paul, taking his time, really getting into it and the pager had gone off. He'd ignored it, of course, expecting John Paul to do the same. John Paul had pushed him gently away and got dressed, apologising at first but when Craig got angry getting angry himself and leaving without another word.

Craig had spent most of that day making phone calls, conducting some deep Google searches, trying to find as much as he could about this guy. Turned out he used to be in some big Irish band Craig had never bloody heard of and was some sort of maverick entrepreneur with companies all over the world. He seemed to insist on being the power behind the throne – which in itself was pretty suss – with manager behind manager, behind manager running it for him, obscuring his involvement. What he learned didn't make him feel any easier in his mind about John Paul's involvement in his business. The fact that the guy was not married, had never been married, had never been linked with _any_ woman made him fretful. He told himself that it was because the guy was quite clearly a man with plenty to hide and John Paul just wasn't safe with him.

John Paul had phoned him in the early afternoon with an apology and an 'I love you', which had made him feel a little better until he began to wonder why he'd felt the need; wonder whether it was guilt that had prompted the call and what exactly he was doing or had done to feel guilty about.

He worked himself up into such a state that he flew into a rage the moment John Paul came through the door, Craig's favourite alcoholic beverage in hand – sure sign of guilt – and John Paul had left again, slamming the door hard behind him, not even bothering to properly row with him.

He'd spent hours trying to find a way to row with him by phone, but the bastard had it turned off all evening.

He dragged all the bedclothes from the bed and snuggled up on the sofa – well snuggled up was perhaps not the correct term – he lay flat on his back, arms folded across his chest, staring angrily up a the ceiling.

When he heard John Paul at the door he closed his eye relaxed his posture and mimicked slumber.

John Paul's sigh was heavy as he saw the state of the bed – there were plenty of sheets, blankets and duvets in the bed drawers, not like he couldn't make up the bloody bed again! - and Craig felt a certain measure of spiteful satisfaction at his frustration.

He relaxed as much as he could as he sensed John Paul examining him, peeked when he heard him leave again. No his bag and coat were still there – he was just getting ready for bed.

He mimicked sleep again when he heard John Paul return.

Yeah he'd been in the bathroom, showering and brushing his teeth. Craig knew this because John Paul lay on top of him and started a concerted kissing offensive, not taking any prisoners, doing all the things he knew Craig loved, all the things he knew damn well made him go weak at the knees.

He helped John Paul remake the bed, which they, of course promptly unmade in their unbridled enthusiasm, forgiving himself for not staying the course – John Paul had been warm, smelled great and had a hard on – no way not to cave under that triple assault.

He'd be angry with him tomorrow.

 

**

 

The drawer was empty. Well it wasn't empty, but it was empty of condoms so it might as well have been empty.

“They in your bag?” He hurried to John Paul's briefcase – briefcase! - but John Paul was on him before he could attempt to open it. He turned and stared at him. Normally he would have found it pretty funny, the both of them standing there hard and ready, tussling over a briefcase. Perhaps he'd lost his sense of humour somewhere between John Paul staying out all night last night and then having a go at him for spending all day in the library because he most certainly didn't feel like laughing. “Hand them over then if you don't want me rummaging through the state secrets you got hidden away in here.”

“Don't be daft.” He placed the case on the floor close to the bed – his side of the bed. “I meant to get them, but I was so busy...”

Craig stood in front of him, hands on hips. “Doing what, exactly? What exactly _do_ you do all day?”

John Paul sighed, lips tightening in a way Craig had come to dread. “I said I was sorry, didn't I? Look I'll go and borrow some.” He reached for his jeans.

“Don't be stupid. We'll cope for tonight. Suck me off instead.”

John Paul glared at him, dropped the jeans. “I'm not going to suck you off because you _demand_ it, Craig – that's not how it fucking works.”

Yeah whatever. He happened to know that John Paul bloody well _would_ suck him off because he demanded it – it turned him on. Craig knew this because he got turned on by John Paul making his own demands. But clearly he wanted to fight. Craig didn't want to fight – he wanted John Paul to suck him off.

“Okay, sorry.” He reached for his own jeans, pulled them on. “I might go downstairs for a while.”

“Why?” He didn't sound hostile or demanding – surprised and a little put out if anything.

Craig shrugged, reached for a clean t-shirt. “To distract myself.” He looked meaningfully down at his crotch. “Company usually does the trick and the channel 5 film is guaranteed to send him all the way to sleep so...” He grinned, thought a minute then decided to do without footwear. “See you later.”

“Craig, wait.” John Paul had stood, still hard, his mouth softer now, the expression in his eyes conciliatory. “I don't want you distracted.” He grinned. “Come here, you idiot.”

Craig grinned to himself.

He supposed there would come a day when they didn't want to have sex at every given opportunity and there might even come a day when the other might be unable to get his lover in the mood, but he had a feeling that that day was pretty far off. But all the same no reason to act like it wasn't just round the corner and take the opportunity to fuck like minks - just in case.

 

**

 

They didn't talk about past lovers. They hadn't talked about not talking about past lovers, they just didn't. He couldn't speak for John Paul, of course, but it wasn't because he felt at all threatened by the memory of Kieron Hobbs. When Steph had told him that John Paul was seeing someone else and that she thought it was pretty serious he'd been a little put out for a a time, a whole lot jealous for a time and just a little furious (for a little longer) that someone else was touching John Paul in a way that was his and only his to do. The point was - it hadn't felt terminal. He'd tested that cord as he did periodically whenever he and John Paul were at odds and it had still been strong so he felt pretty confident (on one level), though he wasn't cocky enough to think it would be plain sailing calling him back. But the moment he'd looked into John Paul's eyes he'd known.

The thing is he knew John Paul, that's why he'd bought that ticket, but not come right out and asked him to come to Dublin, presenting it to him as a fait accompli so that he couldn't bloody _argue_. No way John Paul wouldn't use the ticket – that's the thing that Craig knew about him, the inside knowledge that gave him a distinct advantage over just about everyone else in the entire world.

No, it had never been Kieron Hobbs – or any other lover – who might potentially have stood in his way. Only bloody John Paul McQueen would or could stand in the way of Craig attaining his heart's desire and he _had_ tried, but Craig had a feeling that John Paul just didn't think he'd tried hard _enough_ and was busy quietly beating himself up about it.

He'd got that from a short exchange they'd had the other day.

They'd been having a 'discussion' about John Paul's fucking 'job', why he came running the minute the pager went off. Craig had told him that he'd better not be fucking his 'boss' to which John Paul had laughingly replied:

“He's old enough to be my father, Craig.”

He should have left it there, of course, mirrored John Paul's light-hearted response, but no he had to be 'clever': “Well let's see; a bloke _could_ father a kid at 13 so...hmmm...bloody _Kieron_ could have been pretty much old enough to be your dad.”

The air had gone still, John Paul's eyes had gone a weird icy grey as Craig fervently wished the words away.

“You bastard,” was all he said, slamming out of the room, confident that no way Craig would try to stop him. Craig knew when to push and when to simply retreat to a safe distance. The K word was, for now, probably something that was going to always have him taking cover.

He spent a few moments regretting before heading to lectures.

He knew they weren't going to talk about it – John Paul simply wasn't ready to – he knew that. He knew also that when he was ready he'd come to Craig and Craig would be there for him - the way John Paul had always been there for Craig. They were different in that way – Craig liked to be coaxed into it, buttered up, loved up; John Paul simply decided to talk or not talk; you couldn't _persuade_ him.

So he'd go home, John Paul would come in later with a takeaway or something and say absolutely nothing about what had gone on before and Craig would love him, like he always did and patiently wait for him to talk...

 

**

 

 

He flicked the phone shut: “Something wrong.”

John Paul had told him he'd got two days off and persuaded Craig to spend a bit more time with him. They'd been watching DVDs most of the day - thinking about not having sex. He'd got a call from Steph – her usual weekly checking in call – yet he'd heard the strain under her cheery tone.

John Paul looked up at him – he was topless, his jeans riding low on his hips and Craig tried to think about not having sex. “What?”

“Steph – I think there's something wrong.”

John Paul heaved himself on to the sofa. The hand he laid softly against Craig's face was warm, comforting. “Do you think it has anything to do with what happened when you were in Chester?”

He sighed. “John Paul I don't know what he hell was going on, but something was and yeah I think it has something to do with that. She was trying to be cheery, telling me all the family news and that but I could tell she was on the edge.” He laughed a little. “Steph's actually a better actress than she realises – so long as she doesn't 'act' she's pretty damn good.”

John Paul laughed. Craig loved that, loved that he could make him laugh so easily. John Paul found him very amusing, always had, made it clear in lots of ways that he found Craig absolutely adorable and this, in Craig's eyes, was almost as satisfying as an 'I love you'. “I really like Steph.”

“Yeah me too – we always used to fight when we were kids and though Deb's special being my big sis and everything, me and Steph...” He took John Paul's hand, kissed his fingers. “I don't want any more trouble on her plate, not after Max. What do you know about this Niall – is he good for her?”

John Paul tensed for a fraction of a second, then let it go. Obviously that had hit a little too close to the K word, but he'd let it go so a bit of progress perhaps? “I don't know. Niall's a good guy and I got the impression he really liked her, but I never really saw them together. I think, to be honest, that it sort of came at the wrong time – she was still entangled with Max, her heart wasn't really free to give to-” He broke off, took a long, really long inhale of air. Craig didn't look at him, didn't prompt; perhaps this was the breakthrough they'd been looking for. “Maybe you should take a trip to Hollyoaks.”

Or maybe not. He shrugged. “I might just do that – but man I'm so busy and I'm not exactly rolling in it and I don't want you to pay for it, John Paul. I will go, but not yet. I'll talk to her, try to get her to open up a bit more. God I just want them to be happy.” He grinned as he held John Paul's hand against his lips. “All of them – mum, Steph, even bloody Darren and that little schizo -” He laughed as John Paul smacked him – awkwardly, with his wrong hand – for that. “What? He called himself one first. Weird guy – no wonder he lost it with all that black clothing he wears.”

“Must be something in the water at the Dog.”

Craig looked at him. He really should take offence at that – Jake in a nuthouse was no laughing matter, but the fact that the schizo had also caught it as soon as he moved into the Dog couldn't really be argued with. “I guess I'd better stick to the alcohol then.”

“Mum says that trading standards was on to Jack for watering the alcohol.”

No that was no laughing mater either or at least it shouldn't have been, but it was sort of funny and John Paul's straight face was doing him in. “Milk?”

“I think that should be safe.”

John Paul was grinning now, a hairsbreadth away from full on cackling and Craig, chuckling, straddled him – fuck thinking about not having sex.

“You still want to watch this lot?”

John Paul raised an eyebrow.

 

 

**

Neither of them had expected that. When John Paul had got the call and caught the next plane to Liverpool Craig had expected to hear from him a few hours later, letting him know that it was the usual McQueen pseudo crisis.

Neither of them had expected that.

He'd cried when he'd heard; cried for all of them; for the sister he hadn't really had a chance to get to know, for John Paul who had lost a limb. No question about it – he would never be the same without this sister – the sister who was first in his heart: his confidant, the one with whom he felt most able to be himself. John Paul had spent all night a few weeks back - after the phone call from Steph - talking about his sisters, for the first time admitting he had favourites. He saw them all so clearly – all their faults all the things that made him love them so. Tina had no faults as far as John Paul was concerned, except being too nice perhaps, suppressing her fiery McQueen nature in her role as peacekeeper. She had always supported him, never turned on him, always made him feel absolutely safe and now she had gone, lost in a tragedy that was unbelievable, so unexpected, so unreal.

John Paul hadn't cried at first, not even in response to Craig's grief. He'd comforted him, _comforted_ him! - intent on his rage at Niall – eschewing any idea that he was grieving. He couldn't cope with Tina's loss so he sublimated that, forcing it into the channel of anger and resentment.

Craig wasn't sure he knew how to handle any of this, didn't know what to say to him and he was terrified for Steph – had Niall hurt her, been hurting her all this time and prevented her from telling anyone? But he couldn't say any of that – didn't seem appropriate making himself the focus when it was all about John Paul.

He'd wanted to take the next plane but John Paul had told him not to, assured him that he wasn't going to be able to stay in Hollyoaks for too much longer himself. That it was too painful for him to stay went without saying and Craig agreed but insisted on meeting him at the airport. John Paul reluctantly agreed to that.

Craig could sense that he was already starting to withdraw and he didn't know how to stop him. He just didn't think he was equipped to handle this at all... Was being there for him, loving him enough to get him through?

He hoped so, God he hoped so...

 

 

 

**

 

 

He sent them packing – 'penny for the guy' his arse!

John Paul laughed, threw a sweetie at him. “Here, Victor, let's see if that will sweeten your disposition at all.” He'd recently got back into the swing of things, back at work, working all the mad hours that still set Craig's teeth on edge. He was putting on a good show, but he was still crying in the middle of the night, standing in front of the window and quietly sobbing. If he'd wanted Craig to be involved in this he would have stayed in bed so Craig left him to it, trying to shut out the sound, forcing himself not to go to him.

They hadn't talked about it, not really. John Paul had given him the facts of it all, raged against everyone involved, got that part off his chest but he absolutely point blank refused to talk about the rest. He'd glared at Craig when he'd said Tina's name – yet another name off limits then – making it clear that no, no fucking way was he ever, ever to bring it up. Ever. Craig didn't push it – let him handle it in the way he felt able. It wasn't like _he_ fucking knew what was going on inside John Paul's head: he'd never had two people die on him in what was in reality a matter of weeks. The way he hadn't coped with his dad's defection made him know that his coping strategies might well be as fucked up as John Paul's and he trusted him, knew that eventually he'd talk. He just wasn't ready yet. Craig had to keep being patient, not be chomping at the bit to have the old John Paul back like the selfish, self-centred prick he was. The old John Paul was probably gone for good, but Craig knew that he'd love what took his place regardless. There was no incarnation of John Paul McQueen he would not love, knew that in the same way he knew his own fucking name.

He wanted to go away for the weekend but John Paul said no – too busy, some 'important event' he had to organise. Craig told him point blank that he expected them to spend some time together – no phones, no bloody pagers - sometime soon and John Paul had agreed, admitting that he knew he was 'working too hard, but'. Craig had got the message: this is me coping, don't fuck that up. Please.

And no he wouldn't but for god's sake he needed him, needed _all_ of him, not just what was left over after he'd given his all to his bloody 'job'.

John Paul had changed. When they made love he was more intense, holding Craig for longer, staring into his eyes, whispering in his ear; the things he rarely said. He said them more often now, with an intensity that absolutely slayed Craig, made his heart ache with longing. Yet he was still keeping that distance in their awake time.

Craig ached for him, seeing his pain, knowing that he just couldn't help him, couldn't take it on for him, show him how to make it hurt less. Was there any way for it to hurt less?

Since he knew John Paul so well he eventually came to the realisation that he was being protected; that all of this – all of it - was about him being sheltered, sheltered from some ugliness John Paul saw in himself and was absolutely determined to sort out without Craig being anywhere near it. He wasn't going to try to stop John Paul protecting him – that was John Paul, what he did and he liked it - but if he felt that it was hurting him – this urge to protect him – then he'd do something about it.

Letting him be, not nagging him, giving him time was all he could think to do for John Paul. The added complication of John Paul needing to keep him at arm's length in order to keep him 'safe' was hard to know what to do with. But he would have to force it – if John Paul went on like this for much longer he'd have to risk upsetting him, risk fucking up his coping strategy.

Did that make him a selfish, self-centred bastard?

Well then that's who he was.

He was also the bastard who was so in love with this man he couldn't see straight and for that he'd take any blow the world cared to deliver. So long as he had John Paul – John Paul whole and breathing – he'd be there at the end thumbing his nose at the fucking world...

 

 

**

 

“Can't you put it off for a few more days?”

John Paul was doing that thing again, that kissing with no tongue but plenty of informed...skill...and Craig was getting tired of it, tired of being so easy, so easily read, so easily played.

John Paul had been really absent for weeks and now, now that he seemed to have got things sewn together to his particular satisfaction he expected Craig to just come into line. But they were both troubled – no, his concerns weren't as big and hairy as John Paul's but he still hadn't properly grieved for Jack and he'd been keeping his anxiety for his sister from John Paul and it was killing him. Unlike John Paul he needed an outlet for his anxieties and he felt like a pressure cooker – giving John Paul his space, but showing him that he was on his side, wanting to talk about Niall but having to keep it all buttoned up. It was all getting too much. And now this. He had to go. Surely John Paul could see that.

He pushed him away a little more roughly than had been his intent and John Paul reacted.

“What the fuck's wrong with you? For bloody weeks you've been asking me to give you – give us - some time. Now I've done it, changed my schedule, you decide you need to go to Chester right away. Honestly, Craig, can't it wait a few more days. I want to spend some time with you.”

“I know and I do too, but I need to go.” He wasn't angry, just frustrated and he knew that he needed to make that clear to John Paul. There was no need to fight – he just had to make him understand without picking at any scabs. “Look it's something Steph said. I think she's scared. You said that they hadn't caught up with Niall – I think he's been in touch.” Shit – looks like that scab hadn't been healed – at all.

John Paul's eyes went that icy grey that Craig absolutely hated. Scared the living shit out of him. He began to speak but John Paul beat him to it. “I do not want you to go. Do not go.”

Craig stared. He had often given John Paul orders, ultimatums, which John Paul generally treated with utter contempt. John Paul had never given him anything like an order (except in bed, but that was very different) and now he knew why. He was a scary mofo when he was seriously telling you want he wanted you to do or not to do. And Craig could tell that he was absolutely fucking serious. “John Paul.”

“I can't order you not to, but I am asking you, Craig. Please don't go.”

Craig stood frozen his heart pounding in what he could only describe as anxiety bordering on sheer terror. He knew that their entire relationship hinged on this, this moment. He was about to put his relationship with John Paul on the line and it wasn't a choice between his family or John Paul – it wasn't that – it was a choice between being true to himself and trusting that John Paul's demands were based in something other than groundless fear for his lover. If something should happen to his sister he would never be able to forgive himself and there was a good chance he wouldn't be able to forgive John Paul either. “I'm sorry, John Paul.”

John Paul closed his eyes; stood there, eyes closed then without a word began to gather his work stuff.

Craig watched him in utter silence, determined not to cry, determined not to say more than he'd said. He didn't think there was anything more to say. He'd made that choice, now it was down to John Paul to live with it.

“I'm going to go away for a while. Just a few days.”

They stood looking at each other. There was nothing, absolutely nothing to say.

He watched John Paul look around the room as though he were memorising its contents, stepped aside as he headed for the door.

He didn't turn to look at him.

The door opened and he felt the hot prickle of tears.

“I love you.”

But when he turned the door was closing, John Paul on the other side of it.

 

 

**

 

Their room had been stripped; none of John Paul's stuff, none of his stuff either. Bare bed, sofa, wardrobe. John Paul had taken everything.

Craig sat on the bare bed, too shocked to properly take it all in.

He'd missed him so much, had been so looking forward to coming home seeing evidence of his presence, so sure that they were still okay. John Paul had been so present with him, the fear he remembered seeing in John Paul's eyes the last time they'd been together making him less reckless than he might have been; the memory of his lovemaking making the idea of being with anyone else unthinkable. The cord was still strong – it was always strong. Why had he done it?

He decided to go downstairs, hoping to find out from one of the others what John Paul was playing at and met John Paul at the foot of the stairs.

He had no idea why he was so totally unable to act like a normal human being with this guy but ten seconds after seeing him they were snogging the face off each other, John Paul laughing as Craig dragged him off his feet, holding him down with arms and legs uncaring about the awkwardness of doing this on the stairs. He'd cut his hair and Craig told him he looked like Noddy with his ears sticking out, running his hands through the expertly cut tresses, holding him still with the legs still locked around his waist. John Paul laughed and laughed, kissed him hard, looked into his face and did it again. “Steph told me you were on the way.”

“Yeah?” Craig was kissing him, not really interested in talking.

“She loves you, Craig. She spent the entire phone call telling me that, telling me not to tell you but obviously meaning tell him, tell him!” He laughed, placed a kiss in the hollow of Craig's throat. “I've got something for you.”

“I know that,” he admonished, rubbing his crotch against John Paul's hard on.

“That too, but this is something that's a little bigger and goes even faster than...that. Come on.” He righted himself, taking Craig with him. “You really want to go out into the street like that?”

Craig, taking the hint allowed his feet to find solid ground, ran careless hands over his clothing, ineffectual fingers through his tousled hair. “Go on then.”

John Paul grinned and led the way outside.

The car was a golf – black – about 3 years old, in mint condition. Craig stared at him. “That’s mine?”

“S'what it says on the registration papers.”

“Oh man, really?” He began to examine the car. “John Paul, can we afford this?”

“Well it depends on you, doesn't it? Get in.” He handed him the keys. “I'll get your bags.”

 

He was still grinning like an idiot when John Paul returned. “You trust me to drive this? It's been a while.”

John Paul strapped himself in, making a real production of it. “Well I can drive so if you don't think you're up to it...”

Craig stared at him. “Since when?”

“Been having lessons. Wanted to surprised you.”

“Wow!” He started the ignition, remembered, strapped himself in. “So where we going?”

“I'll navigate.”

“Anything you say. Let's go, but just remember, I'm a bit rusty.”

“Craig?”

“Yeah?”

“Just fucking drive.”

 

**

 

It was a house, a fucking house. Craig pulled into the driveway, stunned into simply staring at him. “John Paul, what the fuck?”

John Paul was already out and heading (with Craig's bag in hand) for the front door.

Craig hastily turned the engine off, locked up and followed him. “No, we're renting this though, right?”

John Paul was heading toward the lounge. “I'd work my fucking arse off just to rent a place?” He was looking extremely smug. “I thought we could have the smallest bedroom as your study. There's a nice garden too. I know I should have allowed you to choose but...” He seemed embarrassed or sheepish or something. Craig put his arms around him to make him know it was alright. “I hated where we were but I didn't want to say it – you seemed happy there and it wasn't like I could give you anything better than that, but I never felt like it was really ever us. I'd always felt that when we were together it'd be just us. I thought you'd changed your mind about that – didn't feel it in the same way I did.”

“You idiot. I did feel it. Why didn't you just say?”

“Because I knew I was being selfish. I'd got involved in another relationship while you were loyal-”

“Oh shut up! You know it wasn't like that, you know I don't hold that against you.”

“But I do. I fucked up, Craig – and it's why I felt like I couldn't make those demands on you. I felt so guilty: guilty about not liking your friends; guilty about not feeling comfortable at the old place. I felt really out of place – not being a student, not knowing anything about anything. It was really getting to me. When I met Colin it was like fate or something. He was willing to pay me a lot of money for doing something I could do standing on my head.”

“Oi!”

John Paul laughed, tickled him. “No not that and what, you think I could do it standing on my head?”

“How big's the master bedroom?”

 

**

 

Well maybe this Colin guy wasn't so bad, after all. He'd seen to the driving lessons and the house – given John Paul a loan that according to John Paul he'd easily pay off. He'd bought the house for cash. Craig simply stared at him. John Paul had laughed, wiped a stripe of ketchup across his nose. “I earn a lot of money and I signed a two year contract.”

“So you're not going to Uni?”

“Craig this job is a dream – this isn’t the sort of job I could get with a degree, so no I don't think so.”

“So you'll be staying in Dublin for a while then.”

“I'm going wherever _you're_ going. Look we've got three years until it's time for you to decide where you're heading. Colin's pretty much guaranteed me a position in any of his companies – He has one in Devon. He's also training me up so I could start up on my own. With your skills...”

Craig nodded thoughtfully. “And he never had his finger in your pie.”

John Paul choked on a chip. “No Craig he never had his finger in my pie. He's not single and it just wasn't like that. We got talking about music and he asked me if I'd be interested in doing some dj-ing. I said yes and that's what I was going to do – not for him, for a friend of his who owns a club – then somehow we got on to the promotion side and,” He shrugged, “He basically created a job for me – basically his job, part of his job. I was working like a dog the first few weeks because I had to, had to deal with stuff he'd deal with as it came up.” He grinned, happier than Craig had seen him for months. “Craig it's fantastic, so challenging. I'm really being stretched.”

“Well so long as you don't mean that literally.”

“Do you ever think about anything else?”

“When I'm with you, not really, no.”

John Paul grinned, kept grinning. “You're beautiful.”

Craig sighed. “I think I preferred you miserable.”

He laughed. “No you didn't.” He took a chip from Craig's plate. Since he had plenty on his own Craig could only surmise it was out of spite. “Colin made me have a grief counselling.”

Craig paused in the act of chasing the last piece of cod across the plate. “Did he?”

“Yeah. I hated, hated feeling he way I was feeling, hated messing you up with the way I was feeling. He made me see that I couldn't cope and we both knew it wasn't fair to expect you to be able to so he made me have the counselling. It was the best thing I have ever done. Well, in the top five.”

“Oh? What's no.1?”

John Paul stared at him and said absolutely nothing.

Craig looked down at his plate and grinned.

 

 

**

 

And you trust me in the car.”

“You've got a licence haven't you?”

“That is true.”

John Paul was nuzzling his left shoulderblade. “I have a company car.” He laughed, stopped Craig from turning in his outrage. “No, I'll trade mine in for the BMW once I've a few years driving under my belt.”

“BMW.”

“Craig?”

“Hmm?”

“I'm sorry I was so stupid about you going to Chester. I was so afraid of what he'd do. He hates me and I know he'd do anything to hurt me. He knows I love you, how _much_ I love you. I was so sure-”

“I know, but I had to, John Paul.”

“I know and the reason I was sort of grumpy was because of this – I'd been wanting to surprise you. That's what I'd planned – spending time with you in our home.”

“I know that now. Bad timing eh?”

“It has been. Not any more though.”

“No.” they were silent for a time, but as always when they were close like this it felt merely like another part of the ongoing conversation in which they were always engaged. “John Paul.”

“Yeah?”

“Talk to me.”

John Paul was quiet for a long time, then he tightened his arms around Craig's waist and began to speak: “When I left you at the airport I was really fucked up...”

 


End file.
